Saturday, November 28, 2009

Why was I the last to know?

Friday night was interesting. I was determined not to write about it because my mother considered me horrible and judgemental but, hey, I've always been a 70-year-old in a teenager's body in terms of grumpiness and whatnot; why end such a marvellous tradition?

A family friend who is exactly one day older than me is leaving the country to go work in the ski fields of Canada so he was having a goodbye celebration at his house. Our mothers have been close friends since they were in their twenties so we've always sort of had that "go play together... seriously, I don't care if there is nothing to say- make it work!" thing going on. Sam is a lovely guy so that makes things easier.

What makes things a wee bit awkward in the relationship between our families is the difference in wealth. See, his parents each make a stackload of money while mine have stuck to their lower-middle class roots. It means that outings and stuff are always awkward because they want to pay for us to experience luxury and my family are just not okay with mooching off others. And it means that while I was always sent to public schools by a staunchly left-wing mother, Sam and his little brother, Oscar, went to one of the most expensive private schools in the city.

This leads me to Friday night. At his farewell party, Sam was hanging with all of his school friends. I try as hard as I can not to judge people based on their background or where they went to school. And, who knows, these kids might have been exactly the same no matter where they'd been sent to school. But I doubt it. All they could talk about was alcohol, kissing girls (and boys, interestingly enough), schoolies, alcohol, marijuana, schoolies, alcohol... the list goes on, in a similar fashion. Sam's mother, Therese, informed us that we should consider ourselves lucky that at 6 in the evening, the boys were only drinking copious amounts of beer and not also getting stoned as was their normal habit. Therese was determined that I go "talk with the young people" but, unfortunately, I have very limited experience where schoolies, alcohol and marijuana are involved. Kissing girls on the other hand... I kid, I kid.

I sat there for an hour but try as I might, I could not either find anything I could contribute to the conversation or a way to look interested. I found myself staring at the "intellectual" of the group who one girl complained "used too many big words" (I think he put "sarcastic" in a sentence at some point) and being amused at his Julius Caesar haircut and tortoise shell glasses. Who says money can't buy class?

That last sentence pretty much sums up everything I thought about the entire group until I was able to leave, around three hours later, after having one semi-decent conversation with a newcomer (thus a sober participant in the party, at least at first) about his geographical origins; he was from Europe so I picked his brain about it... because I could/had to in order to keep myself awake.

I know this all comes off as incredibly conceited and judgemental but I can't help but wonder about two things;

a) what happened to me to make me despise people with money, especially teenagers, so much that I couldn't bring myself to try and communicate with them rather than ridicule them in my blog

b) why these kids are destined to have great lives with lots of success and a feeling that they somehow earnt it despite the fact they'll essentially be buying their way into a distinguished University course and thus to the top of the socio-economic order. At least I can already guess what substances these eventual doctors and solicitors will be spending their "hard earned" cash on at the end of the day.

I'ma go hate myself some more now. Thanks for reading.

Friday, November 27, 2009

7 things.

Some stuff you may or may not know about me. Because a regular blog post felt irregular today, for some reason.

1. Learning about young celebrities is a weird sort of hobby of mine. People think that when I talk about these popstars I am joking or being ironic but I'm not. They fascinate me.

2. I like pineapple juice but I can't stand the texture of pineapple itself.

3. I'm too chicken to go see a movie on my own but I really want to(that one was for you, Annie).

4. I have a good deal of my friend's property on my floor and soon enough it's going to feel like home when I trip over a bag of her CDs in the morning on the way out of my room. Seriously, I'm getting rather attached to the bags of stuff. Little tykes.

5. I worry sometimes that my sarcastic voice is becoming my real voice, both in my mind and in the minds of the people around me, and that one day I will wake up and actually be that racist, sexist, homophobic, mean etc.

6. I'm not ambidextrous but I use cutlery like a left-hander and write with my right hand.

7. I don't think Flight of the Conchords is all that funny. I put that last because I knew that approximately thirty seconds after I wrote it, I would be hunted down and forced to say that its unachieved potential and limited premise as a comedy is actually a total hoot.

Saturday, November 21, 2009

Let the spirit move me.

I'm finished exams so all that's left to do is wait until results time to find out if I passed everything. I have sorted out work- the best I can- so I have some solid hours on which to build in terms of saving up money for next year. I'm methodically creating time in which to catch up with friends.

And here's where the regular, everyday stuff ends. By the end of this weird rant you'll be begging for the mundane. But then that would be me assuming I'm not incredibly predictable and we know that's not true. So perhaps this is more normal than anything. Oh well, here I go.

My best friend's mother's birthday party was tonight. Kat's Mum, Alex, is a fantastic woman in every way. She is physically stunning, she is brave, she's smart, she's creative and she's kind. Of course her friends and family adore her. So this was a lovely party of people just wanting to honour someone who embodies what we all want to be which is undeniably beautiful.

Alex's husband- Kat's father, Joe- said the most wonderful thing when giving a speech. He said to Alex; "I don't just love you. I like you, too." And that's what makes a relationship last, isn't it? Any relationship, really. It's when you don't just love someone. You don't just have a history and heart in common. Your relationship is as alive as when you didn't know them but you wanted to. It grows and it changes and it surprises you and so do they. They make you laugh and smile and cry and curse.

Love is a dull thing. It's an ongoing feeling that is stable and simple when it's there and similarly uncomplicated when it's gone. Like is how we fill our days. It's the hurried conversation between people who trip over topics on their way to learning more about someone, be it for the first time or just the first time in a day or two. Like is the smell of someone's clothing when you hug them. Like is the way you feel about someone the second after they make a good joke or reach out for your hand or miss the food stuck on their chin when they swipe at it with their hand.

I love so many people who have moved in and out of my life but from year to year there are always a finite amount of people who I like. And I am certain there are a smaller number of people who like me, too. But as long as we have that, we know we have it in us to stick together.

Baker is coming to visit tomorrow just 'cause. I love that. And I like him.

Sunday, November 15, 2009

2am and she calls me 'cause I'm still awake.

I get really productive about three hours past my bedtime. Tonight, or this morning, I discovered just how much one can get done when drowsiness doesn't kick in when it should. I always get good at things right about the time I should be focussing on something else. For instance, I am blogging a lot currently because a) there is nothing left to tidy in my bedroom and b) I am supposed to be studying for exams. I never thought I'd be writing much in this blog because, seriously, 'sif my life is interesting. I resolved to be committed anyway, in spite of my lack of inspiration and poor history with follow-through, and here we are. I've written so much here this week I think my journal is going to get suspicious and hire a Private Investigator to tail me.

I have everything organised for tomorrow and, at this rate, I'm going to be awake to greet it. I hope my passport arrives. I hope Julia isn't disgusted by my home and hostessing skillz, respectively. I hope I get a lot of study done and have some fun in the process (HA!). And I hope I can get some work options lined up.

I am so sleepy right now, finally, and am watching Gabrielle and some adorable little punk girl get cornered by a gang of greedy men (is there any other kind? Don't answer that with a "hey!" or I might have to apologise for my lazy and unfunny generalisation). If this beautiful drooping of my eyelids gets any more intense, I might be forced to retire to the Land of Nod and give up on completing minor projects tonight. Oh, what we do for sleep.

Saturday, November 14, 2009

To conquer others is to have power. To conquer yourself...

I could spend less time criticising others and more time improving myself but what fun would that be?

I was so angry when I read a girl's comment on Facebook comparing Kristen Stewart's acting performance in Twilight to the way someone with Down Syndrome behaves. So it's not enough that anti-semitism and homophobia are common inspirations for insults, now we have to bring in people born with debilitating intellectual and physical attributes? Someone pointed out to me recently that I used the word "lame" on this blog and for that I am truly sorry. If it could ever upset someone the way that one sentence written on a website for the entire world to see upset me then ... well, I don't even know how it would make me feel. I can't fathom the kind of pain this abuse of language inflicts on others.

And I can't continue to smile and nod and go against my nature simply because I think it will help my life and make things easier for me. The honour in that is non-existent. Recently I just stood by and listened to a woman at work talk about how homeless people don't try hard enough and I hated myself for doing so. Like all of the other people who were a part of that discussion I ignored her statement; I just went on talking and acted as though I'd accepted what she said as though there was nothing wrong with her viewpoint. I don't normally assume the "I'm right, you're wrong" perspective but in situations like this I don't think a generalisation like that woman's has any real validity. I should have opposed her but selfishness and a distorted idea of self-preservation had me holding my tongue.

I don't understand how comparing someone to a person with Down's Syndrome is funny. I also don't understand how it is an insult. I mean, my nephew is just one of the many incredible people who has this condition and, frankly, anyone being placed in the same category has no right to feel slighted. Similarly, to say making a home for yourself on the streets every day and every night is easier than living with the security and comfort of having a house and all the security that goes with it is beyond forgivable.

My anger does not make me an ideal candidate for discussing this, only a very willing one. I'm afraid of the words I will use if I end up confronting people about the way they talk and the people it affects. I have to hope that I can keep my composure long enough to articulate my viewpoint without giving in and being aggressive and, above all, offensive; the same crime I have charged them with.

As I said before, I am far from innocent. Perhaps my anger would have been better off directed at myself. But I did what I always do which is work through my emotions through writing about them and hopefully discovering a way to be less ... thoroughly insane in the process.

Friday, November 13, 2009

Kiss me goodbye.

Some stuff I forgot to write in the late hours of last night or didn't feel comfortable bringing up online until nowish.

Watched Glee the other night and it made me cry for the first time. That show don't normally hit so many soft spots at once but this episode went all out. Maybe it was also the lack of sleep I had the night before or the emotional stuff that follows neurotic teenage girls like me around. The reason behind conspicuously casting so many minorities in lead roles became clear around the same time Kurt and his Dad had me blinking furiously and saying "it's just hayfever" through my sleeve.

I guess I'm a little overemotional for other reasons, also. I could resist explaining because writing this stuff in a blog is like yelling "You're making a scene! I can't believe you're doing this in public! People are listening!" on a crowded train or something. But what the hell.

It's probably difficult to discover this, what with my amazing powers of disguise, but I'm a highly insecure, neurotic, extra-strength crazy person. As such, when people just disappear from my life or grow distant, I stop talking and get paranoid and just all-around hurt. Never mind that I can often treat other people like they don't matter without breaking a sweat. Avoid my questions or stop saying "hey" to me frequently and I lose it. But I don't tend to move closer to people and try to discover why they hate me all of a sudden. Because, obviously, it's all about me and has very little to do with them. Instead, I hide behing nonchalance and then get flabbergasted when they say "I thought you didn't care anymore". What gave you that impression?

Well, my amazing skillz with people have brought me some great rewards lately. Not the least of which is two friends being deeply unhappy while I'm nowhere to be seen. Obviously dealing with the much larger issue of why neither of them trust me enough to open up. Those selfish bitches. How could they do this to me?

...basically, I'm blogging about being a teenage girl. Tune in next time, folks, for more excitement. Blerg.

I wanna ... tear up the sky with you.

It seems that I'm a commitment-phobic blogger. Every time it seems like I'm getting into a rhythm I sort of drop off the face of the earth. Then I start again. Maybe one day I'll settle down and face my posting insecurities but for now I'm doomed to keep avoiding blogging until it breaks up with me out of frustration.

The truth is that "stuff is happening!", as Liz Lemon would say, and I really wanted to write about it. I worry about who is reading, which is ironic because the point of blogging is to let the world know your thoughts and not consider who may or may not constitute the world. I also worry about school and, despite my Olympic-level procrastination, get preoccupied with studying. And- this is what I want to write about in this post- I worry about work and money for the oh-so-impulsive trip.

So I have a job already but I am a casual there so I have no fixed hours and, of course, I am paid only for the hours and minutes I am working and not a second longer and have no real rights as an employee (just as the company has no real rights in relation to me). All of this I happily accept but I asked my boss a while ago if there could perhaps be other work for me in the next couple of months and she called me asking if I wanted to take over a full time position for late November through Christmas. I accepted the offer but recently my boss was forced to rescind this offer when one of the key accounts transitioned from us to another company quicker than expected and all the work dried up. I understand this but I was disappointed nonetheless as I had stopped looking for work in the belief I had a sufficient position.

This is where the fun part comes in.

My father took my mild disappointment and ended up explaining the situation quite bitterly to a colleague at work. The issue is that the office is made up of cubicles so one of my boss's friends overheard my father's creative interpretation of what had occurred. I have no idea where this will go but I was sort of miffed that it would now appear that I was faking the pleasantness on the phone when informed that the job I'd been given was no longer a- no pun intended- workable thing. However, Dad redeemed himself by talking me up to a whole lot of other companies around the settlement traps and apparently there are three or more places that may be interested in me. So I'm going to see where this leads me, as well as keeping an eye or three on the newspaper listings for any and all full time jobs available to someone with nothing to offer but a graduation certificate and a clean pair of socks.

I went to Shelley's birthday celebrations tonight and they were amazing, just like her. Was there a birthday cake? A Jaffa-flavoured birthday cake? A giant cupcake-shaped, Jaffa-flavoured birthday cake? Why, yes, we had one of those, thank you for asking. Shelley's family and friends- friends who seem more like family- are lovely and it was the sort of gathering that leaves you with a warm feeling in your belly, although that last part may have been aided by that sip of Tam's Long Island Ice Tea that I had.

So tomorrow I really have to start studying. My business law exam is in a few days and, job hunting aside, I really have no excuse to fail this one.

Monday, November 2, 2009

Everything you do is simply kissable.

Or not.

Trying to get a passport organised today was death. I know I shouldn't complain because this is, literally, the only way to get overseas. But two trips to the Post Office for interviews and two rejections for stupid reasons later and I'm losing my oh-so-famous cool. Why must one have a driver's licence to avoid all this extra paperwork? So if private transport isn't my number one concern I have to deal with all this extra identity verification shit even after all the Keypass, bank statement, Medicare card, account card, birth certificate, mother's birth certificate etc. drama? Yay for the age of technology, identity theft and suspicion.

Other than that life is fine. I mean, it's only life, right? It's not something you can choreograph or fix or refine. I spend a lot of my day being wasteful, like today when I tried to make something happen that obviously wasn't meant to be. But I have to reconcile myself with the fact that things will be how they be and if I don't understand or appreciate it at the time I will later because something, somehow, will be fixed or improved or created or prevented or enhanced by every second I feel I've squandered. Even regrets are really just residual hurt or anger. Everyone knows life goes the way it goes and in some way or another we all learn to embrace what happens. I spent a day of my life on this paperwork/passport/stress/bureaucracy that was never going to work in my favour. I'm sure it's taught me something, but maybe I need to learn something else before I can comprehend this lesson properly. So tomorrow is probably "An Introduction to Ink Smudges on Passport Photographs". Wait, that was yesterday. I guess I should go check my timetable...